


Tend Me Black And Blue

by hostagesfic



Series: Appropriate Etiquette Required [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Cock Abuse, Comeplay, Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Masochism, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, S&M, Sadism, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-13
Updated: 2013-02-13
Packaged: 2017-11-29 04:42:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/682907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hostagesfic/pseuds/hostagesfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Tell him,” Louis says, gently, glancing up Harry’s long torso, rubbing his fingers through the gleaming sweat and come over Harry’s stomach. “Go on, Haz.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tend Me Black And Blue

**Author's Note:**

> Title from “White Noise” by Disclosure and AlunaGeorge (thanks Nick Grimshaw). We had the hardest time choosing a summary because this is _honestly just all awful nsfw dick-slapping porn_. [[LJ](http://hostagesfic.livejournal.com/4659.html)]

"Say please,” Louis says. He’s being nice, but Harry knows better than to keep him waiting, nods sharply and mumbles, “Please, Louis.” Louis watches him for a moment and then turns to Zayn, a world away on the other bed. 

“He said please,” Zayn shrugs, and Harry could kiss him, except for how he really only wants to kiss Louis right now. 

“I suppose he did,” Louis agrees, and looks back down at Harry. Harry smiles, automatically, hopefully, and pets at Louis’ hips with the tips of his fingers. “Please,” he repeats, for good measure, and Louis’ face goes soft. “Okay, love, alright.”

Harry holds his breath as Louis slides down from his ribs, straddling his thighs, and dips his thumbs into Harry’s waist, follows the little curve of it to his hips, gives him a reassuring squeeze. “So pretty,” Louis murmurs, just for Harry, and then he’s running the back of his knuckles up the shaft of Harry’s cock, semi-hard and pink in the crease of his thigh. “Gonna get nice and stiff f’me, yeah?” 

Nodding frantically, Harry twists his fingers up in the sheets at his sides, buzzing with anticipation. He pulls his lower lip between his teeth, eyes glued to Louis’ face, and tries to tilt his hips up into the touch, but Louis pulls his hand away and wags a finger at him. “Be nice, Harry,” he admonishes. On the other bed, Niall adjusts himself in his sweats.

Louis raises his eyebrows as he lowers his fingers on Harry’s prick again, just the pads of his index and middle gliding featherlight under the crown. The other bed is only a few feet away in the crammed hotel room, and Liam can see how Harry’s balls draw up tight, the shine of how he’s leaking at the tip. “Like that, darling,” Louis purrs, curls his middle finger into his thumb and flicks at Harry’s shaft like a warning- or perhaps a promise of more, with the way Harry’s slack-jawed and exhaling harshly through his nose.

It’s nowhere near _enough_ , not even close to what Harry needs, but it’s good, the sharp burst of pain and the dull throb left in its wake, like pressing fingers to a bruise. He shifts a little under Louis’ weight, feet restless, legs taut with the same anticipation that’s drawing up under his ribs, holding him still, still, still to be good for Louis. 

“Look at you,” Louis smiles, and moves his hand down to Harry’s balls, tracing them with his thumb before pushing the pad of it into the base of Harry’s cock, dragging it up the vein on the underside. Harry’s eyelids flutter closed and he bites into his lower lip, whining loud enough to make the other boys squirm on the opposite bed. 

“Jesus,” Niall says, “Harry.”

It’s as if he had been _waiting_ for Harry to close his eyes- tipping his head at Niall but keeping a calculating gaze on Harry, Louis draws his hand back and, without warning, lands a backhanded slap across Harry’s cock, skin snapping against skin with a sharp sound. On the other bed, Liam jumps and Zayn sucks in a breath through his teeth as Harry cries out, tipping his head back, exposing his pale throat.

“Yeah?” Louis grins, draws infinities with a soothing fingertip against Harry’s hip.

“Yeah,” Harry agrees. “Don’t- please.”

Louis laughs, which startles Liam again. Zayn pats his shoulder distractedly. “Such a polite boy, Haz, ‘course I won’t _stop_ ,” Louis teases, and Harry nods again, curls tangling as they rub against the pillow.

“Say it again,” Louis decides, and Harry opens his mouth at once, “Pl-” and doesn’t make it past the first syllable before Louis’ hand is a blur against his prick, smacking it against his hip with another startling sound. Harry loses it into a muffled whimper, clamping his mouth shut to keep quiet, only half working. “Haz,” Louis says, rubbing at his side with the same hand that dealt the blow, “what’ve PR told you about speaking clearly, love?” 

Licking his lips, Harry takes a steadying breath and mostly doesn’t stutter as he repeats, “ _Please_.”

“There we go,” Louis smiles, saccharine, and uses the opposite hand this time, knuckles grazing Harry’s balls dangerously. Niall buries his face into Zayn’s shoulder, cursing under his breath.

Harry gasps, “More, please-” and on the next slap, his prick lands against his thigh and sputters precome in droplets onto his pale skin. He’s already flushing a pinkish red, contrasting against his milky skin.

Louis leans forward, then, settling his mouth on Harry’s sternum and sucking four blushing marks in a line down between his ribs, each with the darker imprints of teethmarks. He’s not touching Harry’s dick, now, just trailing the hand that isn’t holding him upright over Harry’s upper thighs, rubbing his fingertips through the soft hair there, dancing along the crease of his hips. 

Niall’s watching from Zayn’s collarbones, tucked into his side like on a movie night when he’s not sure of the plot, and Harry smiles weakly over at him. Louis notices, because Louis notices everything about Harry, every trembling muscle and twitch of his lips that says something he can’t put words to. He follows Harry’s gaze over and smiles at Niall, too, and it’s like a mirror reflection; but if Harry’s is the mirror, Louis’ is _real_ , that bit meaner and darker and purposeful. “Think we’re scaring Nialler a bit,” he says.

“‘m not scared,” Niall says, automatically, fingers going tight in the hem of Zayn’s tee shirt. “Just. You’ve never- done _that_ b’fore.”

“Not with you watching,” Louis says, and turns back to Harry, leans down and kisses him filthy and slow, so Niall (and Zayn, and Liam) can see their tongues and hear the wetness of it.

It’s clearly not the first time- Liam’s absolutely positive he’d just end up slapping his own stomach if he attempted Louis’ next move, exacting a strike of his fingers that makes Harry’s cock bounce against Louis’ tummy on the rebound. Harry breaks the kiss with a whine, and Louis smiles into his mouth, nips Harry’s lip and chin before sitting up and hitting him again.

“Haz, come on,” he says, nose tipped up, looking down with his lashes fanned over his high cheekbones. “They’re waiting for you.”

“Jus’ like that?” Zayn asks, incredulous, and Louis slaps Harry’s cock again, enough of a response.

Louis scratches his fingernails through the short hair around the base of Harry’s prick, other hand squeezing Harry’s side. “You’re almost there, babe, c’mon,” he says, voice harder than his words merit. Harry’s panting, and his eyes are brimming with tears, and his cheeks and neck and collarbones are ruddy with exertion, shiny with sweat. The tattoos on his chest and arms look darker in contrast, fresher, sharper. Louis slaps him twice, in quick succession, and his shoulders jump off the bed.

Niall’s turned his face into Zayn’s chest, now, fingers digging into his thigh, but Zayn and Liam are still staring, and Louis glances briefly at them. “Gonna show the lads how good you are for me,” he says, leaning down to Harry’s ear and scraping his teeth along the hinge of his jaw. His voice is still plenty loud enough to carry, and Liam shakes his head, eyes a little glazed, bumps his elbow against Zayn’s unintentionally. “Show ‘em how you like it,” Louis says, at the same volume, and nibbles at Harry’s earlobe, tongue flickering hotwetsurprising from behind his teeth. 

Harry’s straining against the contact, now, knees moving helplessly, tiny aborted motions against Louis’ weight on his thighs, chest heaving with the effort of keeping his upper body still. It’s so good, Louis’ hand ruthless against his cock, and the searing heat and not-quite-enough just-too-much pressure that blinds him on every stroke, and Harry wants to be just that good for Louis, if he can. 

“‘m _trying_ ,” he says, tearfully, and his hands clench and release the sheets, aching with how hard he’s holding on. He can feel how damp they are with sweat, and he hadn’t noticed but he _is_ sweating, his palms and his chest and enough that his dick slides against his skin when Louis slaps it hard. 

Louis doesn’t respond, but his next slap is barely a flick of his wrist that makes his fingernails flick Harry’s cock. He does it again, and again, building Harry up with quickfire bursts of pain that edge him closer, make his eyes that much damper and his breathing more labored. Then, he pulls his hand far back enough that Liam’s wincing just in anticipation- and so is Harry, but there’s also craving and raw _need_ behind it. Harry’s the only one that catches the upward curl of Louis’ mouth, reassuring, before he lowers his hand in a fell swoop, knocks Harry’s dick so hard it bounces off one thigh to the opposite and makes him sob.

“Come for me, Harry,” Louis asks- orders, really. Harry’s breath is messy and ragged, and on the next slap, Louis’ knuckles land straight down on his dick and his back arches off the bed, gasping and choking as he comes.

“Yeah,” Louis says, softly, nudging his knuckles up against the base of Harry’s cock as it jerks painfully, and it- 

“Oh my god,” Liam says, “oh my _god_ , there’s so much.”

“ _Liam,”_ Zayn says, sounding both impressed and horrified at the same time, but neither of them can look away from Harry and Louis to really discuss it. Niall is peeking, too, lower lip between his teeth, eyes huge and bright against the flush that’s taken over his face. 

“Lou,” Harry gasps, and his voice is wrecked. Louis bends over him at once, nosing his cheek and kissing the corner of his mouth, “Yeah, baby, you’re fine, look how good you were, shh, got me all messy, the bed too, so good-” 

Harry’s gone limp under him, and when Louis edges up his body his legs can finally fall open, thighs still trembling in the aftershocks. “You were so good,” Louis tells him again, petting at Harry’s sides and biceps and finally, his cheeks, framing his damp, flushed face in both hands and meeting his eyes, nodding firmly, before leaning in to kiss him.

When Louis lifts his head and looks away- briefly- from Harry, he finds out that Zayn’s the first one to cave and stick his hand in his trousers, palming at himself. “That was really hot, Haz,” he grins, kisses between Harry’s collarbones and at the beaks of each bird on his chest, nosing his way down. Harry smiles dopily and nods, hazy.

Louis pushes Harry’s legs farther open, situating himself between them. From his vantage point, Harry’s prick looks angry red and still swollen, not quite able to go down, blood rising still from the blows. The head is slick and smeared with come, even darker than the rest where it flares out, his foreskin pulled back, and the veins and little blood vessels down the shaft stand out in relief, making his prick sit fat and spent on his lower belly. Louis kind of wants to kiss it, so he does, lips cool and wet against Harry’s overheated and oversensitive skin.

Harry whimpers but doesn’t push him away, tipping his head to the side, forehead nuzzled into the pillow. “Lou,” he whines, and Louis hums.

“But he just _came_ ,” Liam whispers, sounding awed from the opposite bed, and then there’s a gasp which means he’s just realized Zayn has a hand down his pants.

“‘s’it,” Niall begins, and stops, shakes his head. “s’at hurt, then, Harry?”

Harry’s trying to breathe, but he can feel the velvet heat of Louis’ tongue like a vice grip on his lungs, and he can only manage a small noise, a quick nod as his head snaps back. 

“Tell him,” Louis says, gently, glancing up Harry’s long torso, rubbing his fingers through the gleaming sweat and come over Harry’s stomach. “Go on, Haz.”

“I,” Harry says, and hits his fist against the mattress twice, hard, when Louis tongues at his slit. “I _like_ it, god.”

Louis hums, delighted, and rubs his fingertips over the inside of his thighs tenderly, barely an echo of the harsh strikes he’d dealt only minutes ago. Harry’s legs are cool in comparison to the blood-rush heat of his abused dick, and Louis licks a thick stripe down from the dip at the head to his balls and back up, pecking a wet kiss at the tip when he’s finished. “You really do, darling,” he hums, pleased, and flicks his tongue at the side of Harry’s cock just to see him flinch. “Maybe next time we can show ‘em what it’s like, how much you love it when I slap your arse, yeah?”

Niall chokes, and Zayn says, “Fuck’s sake, y’know it’s hot,” and palms Niall’s crotch to make his point.

Harry makes a vague sound of appreciation for the world at large and shifts his hips a little, bumping his dick against Louis’ chin. “Really,” Louis gives him a look, and Harry nods, smiles sweetly.

“Can he- c’n ‘e come again?” Liam asks, clearing his throat.

Louis _actually_ snorts, wraps a hand carefully around the base of Harry’s prick and sucks a kiss along the shaft.

“Yeah,” Zayn says, and he’s rocking his hips up into his own hand now, keeping the same rhythm as he grinds the heel of his other hand along Niall’s cock through his sweats. “Yeah, ‘e can, can’t you, Harry?”

Tired, Harry only nods, croaks out a proud little “Yeah, can.” As a reward, Louis sticks his tongue out and guides the head of Harry’s prick against it, licks up the taste of sticky come and new, warm droplets of precome.

“Fuck,” Liam says, succinctly, and Zayn laughs like he’s having the same problem breathing as Harry is. 

This time, it’s Niall who comes first, swearing and clutching at Zayn’s arm, holding his wrist still so he can grind against his hand. Harry whimpers, and Louis looks up from his kitten licks ‘round the base of Harry’s prick, cleaning up spatters of come, to grin at Zayn. “Good work, Zayner!”

“Good form,” Harry supplies, a breathy whisper. The praise seems to do it for Zayn- Louis makes a mental note- and he follows Niall over the edge while Louis suckles at the head of Harry’s cock, gentle pressure that brings him closer quickly.

Zayn slumps against Liam and pets at his thigh, and Liam puts his hand in his pants instead of just palming over them inside his joggers.

“C’mon, babe, you’ve been so good,” Louis tells Harry, kissing his prick messily and scratching at his thighs. He moves his mouth down to his balls, sucks and licks as the wetness on Harry’s dick cools. “One more, Haz,” he prompts, nips a little at Harry’s skin.

Harry digs his heels into the mattress and punches Louis’ side with his knee when he comes, gasping, chest expanding like his ribs are about to break apart beneath his skin, and he pushes at Louis’ head desperately, even as Louis keeps his hips pinned and licks around his foreskin, lapping up the few sputters of come Harry manages this final time. 

On the other bed, Zayn digs his fingers into Liam’s knee and Liam goes still, shuddering with his own fingers tight around his dick in his underwear, and Niall mumbles some kind of congratulations. 

“Oh, bollocks, I’m last,” Louis mumbles, pecks a single, wet kiss at Harry’s hip and licks his lips as he sits up.

“Come on ‘is tummy,” Zayn speaks up, jerking his chin at Louis. “‘e got you all dirty, yeah?”

“‘re ‘s filthy as they are,” Liam groans, with the way his mouth is affixed to Zayn’s shoulder a surprise to both of them.

Louis nods, “Good lads.” He smiles sweetly down at Harry and, without giving it much thought, smears some of the mess on Harry’s tummy onto his palm and wraps it around his cock, shuddering at the contact, close already just from having waited this long.

“Hey,” Harry drawls, sleepy-eyed and splotchy red, and folds his hands on his tummy. Louis only nods at him, lower lip between his teeth, eyes heavy-lidded as he slides his hand over himself quickly, adding pressure at the head just how he likes.

“C’mon, Lou,” Zayn says, shifting on the other bed. “Not like you hafta impress us.”

Louis shoots him a dirty glance, but Zayn just stares back at him and licks his lips, deliberate, and Louis bows his head, steadies himself with a hand spread on Harry’s chest where he can feel his pulse hammering. “Gonna,” he says, pointlessly, taking in as much of Harry as he can; his tousled curls and glistening forehead, his tired, sated eyes and red-marbled chest, the bruised strawberry-red of his soft cock, tucked against his hip. “Harry,” he tries, and jerks himself through it, coming all over Harry’s stomach and up his chest, a single droplet catching in the hollow of his throat. 

“That was nice, Lou,” Niall points out, uncharacteristically eloquent considering the circumstances. 

Louis tips his head at him and wonders if Niall would be as gracious if they pushed him onto the floor to get at his bed. Or maybe they could share. He slips his hands beneath Harry’s shoulders and pulls him up, and Harry furrows his brows but goes easily. “We’re relocating,” Louis explains, pecking Harry’s lips and tugging at a clean corner of the sheet to wipe down his chest and tummy roughly. “Come on, darling,” he tuts, “shove over, you lot.”

Zayn hip-checks him as he gets up, pulling Liam up and simply swiveling Niall around on the mattress, letting him squirm up to a pillow in the middle of the bed. “‘m center spoon,” Niall mumbles, eyes already closed, dopey smile on his face, and none of them have the heart to deny him. Instead, Liam and Zayn drag themselves to the other side of the bed, pushing off a pile of clothes to scoot under the covers, and letting Louis have the nearest side to tuck Harry in beside Niall and take the edge for himself. 

“Yay,” Harry says, when they’re all in and Zayn has pulled the sheets up to their- “chinny-chin-chins,” Niall mutters, sounding altogether too pleased with himself. 

“I can’t believe,” Liam begins, from the opposite edge, and they can all _hear_ him shaking his head.

“Can it, Payne,” Louis says, fondly. “Or I’ll do you next time.”


End file.
